Christmas Gifts
by kbrand5333
Summary: These are my entries in the LiveJournal Christmas Fic Exchange. They are many and varied, and I hope you enjoy them!
1. The Gift

**Prompt: After "Queen of Hearts." Guinevere gifts Morgana and Merlin openly. Arthur is jealous and finally gets her alone to give Gwen her present, and she gives him a stupendous one.**

"Merlin, is that a new scarf?" Arthur asks when Merlin strides in with his lunch. The scarf currently adorning his neck is not one of his normal scruffy linen numbers.

Well, it's still linen, but it is nowhere near scruffy. It's red, one of Merlin's customary colors, but it is a richer red, darker, bolder than his normal faded red scarf. It also appears to have been crafted by an expert hand, with fine, even stitches lining the perimeter. There is even an _M_ embroidered in the corner.

"Yes, Gwen made it for me. Winter Soltice gift. Isn't it beautiful?" Merlin says, grinning, his fingers tracing the edges of the material.

"Yes. Very nice," Arthur says, trying not to appear cross.

"She made it herself," Merlin repeats, obviously so impressed that Gwen would make something for him that he's forgotten he's said it already.

"So you said," Arthur snaps, snatching up his bread and tearing it agitatedly.

"Something wrong, my lord?" Merlin asks, basically goading Arthur. He knows precisely what is wrong with Arthur. He's just trying to make him say it.

"I'm just… tired of all the fuss over the holiday. Sprigs of bloody mistletoe everywhere, one cannot even go for a decent walk without being accosted," he grumbles. _Especially when the person I keep trying to meet under said mistletoe is a slippery little vixen who keeps managing to avoid me._

"And so much emphasis on gifts," he continues, and Merlin bites back his smile as he fills Arthur's goblet.

_And there it is,_ he thinks.

Earlier today Arthur had encountered Morgana, only to find her clutching a silk handkerchief that, he now realizes, looked strikingly similar to Merlin's neck scarf, embroidered _M_ and everything.

_"Happy Solstice, Arthur," she had greeted him, leaning forward to plant a chaste kiss on his cheek._

_"Morgana," he nods back at her, smiling, noticing the handkerchief. "New?" he asks._

_"Gwen made it for me," she says, holding it out, running the silk across her fingers. "Isn't it exquisite?"_

_"She is one of the finest seamstresses in Camelot, yes," Arthur replied, finding that he wanted to steal the cloth away from Morgana just because his Guinevere had so lovingly crafted it._

_"I was worried at the cost, since it is silk and all, but then she told me that it was made from one of my old dresses!" Morgana laughed then._

_"She's very resourceful, yes," Arthur agreed, smiling._

And now Merlin with the neck scarf. Arthur hadn't even seen Gwen yet today, and here it was lunch already.

_If she had a gift for me, surely she would have sought me out already,_ he thinks, his fingers straying to his inside vest pocket where he has his gift to her hidden away. _I need to find her at some point to give her this._

"My lord?" Merlin inquires, and Arthur continues to stare, one hand inside his vest, the other holding a fork poised in mid-air. "Arthur?"

"Hmm?" Arthur blinks and returns to earth. "Oh." He puts the food in his mouth, chewing but not tasting.

"I'm sure Gwen has a gift for you as well," Merlin says carefully, casually walking over to pick up some pieces of armor strewn about from the morning's training. Really he is just getting out of arm's reach.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that and get on with my lunch," Arthur snaps. He's been understandably touchy about discussing his feelings for her, even with Merlin, since she was nearly executed.

"All I'm saying is that you're pouting for no reason," Merlin says.

"I am not pouting," Arthur says, pouting.

"As you say," Merlin answers. "You're jealous!" he suddenly blurts, the words out before he can stop them.

"Excuse me?" Arthur's face is like stone.

_Wow, he really looks like Uther when he gets mad,_ Merlin thinks. "You've seen Morgana and me both receive gifts from her already, and it's killing you that she hasn't come to find you."

"Shut up."

Merlin smirks and lifts the armor into his arms. "Will that be—"

"Yes, that will be all, Merlin. I'd like to dine in peace please."

xXx

"Guinevere," Arthur finally finds her, walking through a thankfully empty corridor with an armload of sheets.

"Arthur," she answers, slightly flustered.

_Why is it I find her where there is no mistletoe?_ He takes her arm and gently pulls her into an alcove.

"I've been hoping to find you," he starts, biting his lip nervously. _She looks so beautiful in the orange light of the sunset._

"Um, Arthur, I'm—" she starts, and then approaching footsteps sound and their moment is lost.

He steps back, his lips a hard line, as she steps out of the alcove. "I will find you later," she whispers then. "I promise."

Later. Nearly midnight.

Arthur waits like a caged animal. Patience is not something that comes naturally to the prince. He dismissed Merlin for the night, his intention to be _quite_ alone with Gwen when she appeared.

If she appeared.

He sighs, walking to the window and opening it, looking out over the courtyard. There is a fresh covering of snow now, and Arthur watches how the footprints criss-cross and zig-zag on the snow-covered stones.

Finally there is a soft tap at the door. Arthur closes the window and jogs over, skidding to a stop a few feet before the doors.

_Don't want to appear too eager._ He casually opens the door.

"Guinevere," he says, smiling.

"Sorry it's so late," she says, and he steps back to allow her into his room. "Morgana was having a troubled night, but I think she's settled down now."

He closes the door behind her, locking it without thinking why. "No trouble," Arthur says, bending to kiss her cheek, smiling at how she shyly looks down and smiles.

"Come sit by the fire with me," he says, taking her hand and leading her over to a soft bench in front of the cozy, warm fire.

They sit for a moment, eyeing each other awkwardly.

"I have—"

"I wanted—"

They both start at the same time, then break off, laughing nervously. "You first," he says. "Go ahead."

"I have a gift for you, Arthur," she say quietly, reaching into her sleeve. "It's not much, and I'm sorry it's not wrapped, and…"

"Guinevere, do not apologize for your gift. I already love it because it is from you, and I don't even know what it is."

She places a familiar item in his hand.

"I thought I'd lost this," Arthur breathes, clutching the white linen handkerchief – her favor to him – to his chest. He had been devastated to find one morning two weeks ago that it was gone, missing from the drawer in his bedside table. The worst part is that he couldn't even properly yell at anyone for it, because only Guinevere knew that he yet had it.

"I'm sorry," Gwen smiles. "I remember how grumpy you were the day I snuck it out."

"Why?"

"Look."

He looks down at it. In one corner she's embroidered a beautiful monogram, a red _A_ intertwined with a lavender _G_, surrounded by gold scrollwork.

"It's a reminder," she whispers. "A reminder of a time when we were allowed to just be two people, not a prince and a servant. A time when we came to see one another in a different light. A time when one kiss turned the world on its head."

"It's… beautiful. I don't know what to say," he says, his voice strange and hoarse. "Thank you, Guinevere."

"You're welcome, Arthur."

"I… I have something for you as well," he says, setting the handkerchief beside him on the bench and reaching into his vest.

He withdraws a small parcel wrapped in a piece of red cloth. She takes it and unwraps it, beside herself with curiosity.

It is a silver hair comb, cast to look like simple wildflowers.

"It's beautiful, Arthur," she breathes.

"I remembered how much you like to wear flowers in your hair," he says, shyly reaching up to rub a curl between his fingers. "It seems a shame to let winter prevent that."

Gwen blinks back tears, touched at his thoughtfulness, surprised that he noticed, honestly. "Thank you. I will treasure it."

"I would prefer that you wear it, actually," he says, his voice lightly teasing, and she giggles.

"Of course I will," she says, running her fingers along the row of flowers. _Daisies. I like daisies._

"I would have liked to have gotten you something more, something finer. Jewelry. Something. But…"

"But we have to be careful. I know. If I suddenly had a fine piece of jewelry, people would be suspicious."

"I know. That's why I went with the comb."

"And I love it. It's the most beautiful thing I have."

"I beg to differ," he says quietly, reaching up to caress her face, telling her exactly what he thinks is the most beautiful.

"I… I have another gift for you," she whispers.

"You do?" Arthur looks around, seeing nothing. _She can't possibly have anything else stashed away._

Gwen scoots a little closer and leans forward, and Arthur understands what his gift is. He winds his arms around her waist, pulling her close, nearly in his lap before his lips connect with hers.

The kiss starts out soft, sweet, but then the air around them changes, and Gwen is pressing closer, gripping his shirt in her hands.

Arthur groans low, then he makes a decision. His tongue comes forward, running along her upper lip. A question.

Gwen answers with a small sweet noise in the back of her throat, parting her lips for him, giving in to an impulse too long denied as she welcomes his tongue with her own.

Her responsiveness makes Arthur feel as though he is flying, soaring to the sun and back as she kisses him back as hungrily as he, tasting him, devouring him with the same passion he feels for her.

"Guinevere," he tears his lips away to worship her name, pulling her into his lap to stop himself from laying her back on the bench and covering her body with his own.

She gazes down at him for a brief moment before covering his lips with hers again, bravely delving one hand into his hair now.

Arthur groans again and, hands gripping her waist, he pulls away again, the supple skin of her neck too close and too inviting to be ignored.

As he boldly trails kisses down her neck, he realizes that it would be very simple to just lift her in his arms and carry her to his bed, and that thought, tempting though it is, is enough to startle him back to reality.

_No. I will not compromise her virtue. I've come too close to losing her over less._

He kisses his way back up to her lips, where he indulges himself just a little longer, but Gwen senses the change in his demeanor and knows that he's thinking of her now, of what has happened and how this would look should they be discovered.

She pulls slightly away and kisses his nose.

"Merlin told me that you were cross at lunch because you had seen my gifts to him and Morgana," Gwen says, smiling down at him.

"Yeah," he admits.

"I had to make those things for them, those monograms."

"Why?"

"They were practice for this," she lifts the handkerchief from the seat and runs her fingers across the stitched emblem. "I wanted it to be perfect."

"It is perfect. You are perfect, Guinevere," Arthur says, wrapping her in his arms again. "Happy Solstice, my love."


	2. Snowed In

**Prompt: Cold December Night**

Guinevere turns at the sound of a soft knock at the door. "Oh," she says, seeing it is only Merlin's prat friend Arthur. "He's sleeping, finally," she says.

Arthur steps in. "Guinevere," he greets her coolly, used to her standoffish demeanor. She notices melting snowflakes on the shoulders of his black greatcoat and on the crown of his blonde hair.

"Is it still snowing?" she asks, fussing over Merlin's pale thin frame in the hospital bed, tucking his blankets up under his chin.

"Getting worse. I almost skidded off the road, actually."

"You shouldn't have come out."

Arthur sighs. "He's my friend, too, Guinevere."

"It's also Christmas Eve and you have family."

He stubbornly peels his coat from his broad shoulders, revealing a snug-fitting grey sweater that outlines his shape perfectly, as if the sheep volunteered their fleece willingly because they knew it was for Arthur Pendragon.

Gwen frowns slightly, irked at the fact that she has always found him attractive despite his superior attitude.

"What about you?" he counters, sitting regally in a chair on the other side of Merlin's bed.

"You know Merlin is the only family I have left, Arthur," she answers softly.

"Oh. Right. Sorry," he answers, then looks up at her. "Sorry about Elyan, by the way." She looks tired, and Arthur finds himself wondering when she last got any sleep. She is wearing yoga pants and a hoodie, dressed for comfort.

"Thank you. I did get your card. I haven't gotten around to sending out the official 'thank-yous' yet…"

"Don't send me one. Really. I don't need it," he tells her, though not unkindly.

"It was too much, Arthur. You didn't need to send that much money."

"I know."

"I donated it to the Policemen's Widows' Fund. They need it more than me."

He nods. "How is he?" he asks, indicating Merlin now.

"Fair. He's in a lot of pain. So sleep is good."

The nurse comes in now, and Arthur and Gwen both move to the far side of the room while she checks Merlin's chart, consults the various machines, adjusts the flow of his IV, and takes his temperature.

"Weather's turned into a full-blown blizzard," she says conversationally. "I hope you two are comfortable, because the roads are impassible."

"Oh," Gwen says. "Well, I wasn't planning on going anywhere tonight anyway."

"Visiting hours are technically over, but seeing as how no one is going anywhere, I don't see the harm in letting you stay with your friend." The nurse leaves them in the dim light of Merlin's hospital room.

"Thank you," Gwen answers, glancing up at Arthur. He is sending a text, and she leans over to see.

_Won't be home. Am snowed in at the hospital. Merlin OK but not good._

"Who are you texting?"

"Father."

"He doesn't care about Merlin," Gwen blurts unthinkingly.

"He does in his way."

"Throwing money at the hospital again?"

"Guinevere, that's unfair."

"Merlin dying here in a hospital bed is what's unfair, Arthur," she says, tired of his high-handed nature with everyone. "I'm sorry, but your family's vast wealth doesn't impress me."

Arthur sighs. "My father doesn't know how any other way to help. He doesn't know how to deal with emotions, how to… give support to people he cares about in non-monetary ways."

"So him throwing money at the hospital, paying Merlin's bills, that's how he shows how much he cares," Gwen adds, starting to understand. She is also starting to grow confused. Arthur seems different tonight. Almost human.

"Yes. At least I hope so."

Gwen moves away from him and sits on a chair, hugging her arms around her. "You'd think they'd heat this place," she comments.

"You're always cold," he says. She looks at him, surprised. "What? You are."

"I guess I'm surprised you noticed."

Arthur says nothing, biting back the fact that he always noticed her, always noticed how she would sometimes wear her gloves or scarf inside. Or how her soft brown eyes light up when Merlin is feeling well. Or how she has a weakness for peanut butter. Or how her laugh seems to make the sun shine.

Arthur starts looking inside cupboards and in drawers now, rummaging.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

He doesn't answer, heading out into the hallway. She hears him talking to someone at the nurses' station, and he returns a moment later with a blanket.

"Here," he says softly, opening it up and placing it around her shoulders.

"Thank you," Gwen says, mystified, wondering who this thoughtful person is. She brings her feet up onto the chair, curling into a ball, wrapped completely in the blanket now. It is a large chair, wide enough for perhaps one and a half people, upholstered, and she looks almost childlike there.

Arthur sits back down in the smaller, less comfortable chair on the opposite side. "He was never exactly healthy-looking, but this is beyond…"

"Beyond the pale?" Gwen quips, cutting him off. Arthur blinks his surprise at her, and she immediately regrets her flippancy. "Sorry. That was in poor taste," she says, huddling into herself more.

Arthur smiles, and something flips inside Gwen's belly. "I'm sure he'd be the first to laugh at it," he say. "His already-dark sense of humor has gone positively black over this past month."

"I noticed," she says, resting her head back on the chair.

"You should close your eyes, Guinevere. You look exhausted."

"I am. But…"

"If anything happens I promise I'll wake you up."

She eyes him suspiciously.

"I will."

Gwen closes her eyes, trying to let herself doze. But there is too much noise. Machines. Nurses. Alarms coming from the hallway. The knowledge that her best friend may well be dead by morning. And Arthur.

To his credit, he is being as silent as a church mouse. But he's there, and she knows he's there.

And she cannot get warm. It's as if her fear and grief have banished any warmth from her body. She shivers a bit and sighs heavily.

"Still cold?" Arthur asks quietly.

"Mmm-hmm. I can't warm up. And it's too noisy in this hospital. You'd think a building full of sick people would have the decency to at least be bloody quiet."

Arthur laughs.

"And now you're laughing at me," she grumbles. "Thanks."

"I'm not laughing at you, Guinevere," Arthur protests. "I'm laughing because what you said was funny."

Gwen shivers again, hugging herself tighter.

Arthur stands and walks around to her. "Here," he says, holding his hand out to her.

Puzzled, she takes his invitingly warm hand and allows him to pull her to her feet. He bends and starts pulling and pushing at the chair, reclining it, turning it into a makeshift bed.

"These chairs turn into beds for overnight guests," he says, bending to remove his shoes. He then stretches out on the bed, over to one side. Then he gingerly pats the space in front of him. "You won't get warm standing there gawking."

Gwen bites her lower lip, then pulls her feet out of her fur-lined suede boots and delicately joins him. He arranges the blanket over them both.

"I'm going to put my arm around you," he declares unceremoniously, and a moment later she feels his warm arm around her waist, the heat from his body seeping into her back.

"Thank you," she whispers.

They lie together, awkwardly, neither knowing what to say. Finally Arthur hears himself asking, "Why don't you like me, Guinevere?"

Gwen hesitates before answering, embarrassed. "It's not that I don't like you, Arthur," she starts.

"But?"

"But you're usually so… superior. Like you think you're better than everyone."

"My father raised me to think this way," he admits to the back of her head, noting that her hair smells like vanilla. "I've been trying to stop it, actually. I know it's not right. Merlin…"

"Merlin's illness helped you see this," she finishes for him, and she feels him nod behind her.

"You've been very kind tonight, Arthur. Sweet, actually," she admits.

"And you haven't been as, um, acidic with me as you usually are," he ventures.

"Acidic?"

"You prefer 'bitchy?'" he asks.

Gwen laughs now. "I'm sorry. My father raised me to be this way," she says, paraphrasing his earlier words. "Not to be bitchy, mind, but to appreciate things other than money. And, quite honestly, to be distrustful of people with means who think they are better than me. And I know that's not right either."

"Are you getting warmer?" he asks, and she nods.

"Good," he says. "And since we're being honest, I… I actually quite like you, Guinevere."

"You do?" she asks, her voice a shocked whisper.

"I do," he answers, his voice quiet, and she notices that he holds her just a tad tighter.

"Well, you're not entirely unattractive," she admits, ducking her head. "When you're not being a prat."

Arthur actually laughs, and Gwen relaxes a little.

"Guinevere."

Her name on his lips makes Gwen's belly flip again.

"Turn around."

It doesn't even occur to Gwen that he has just given her an order until she is gazing up into his blue eyes, noticing the flecks of grey that make them so unique and beautiful.

"Arthur?" she whispers, afraid of and excited by what she suspects is happening between them.

His fingers touch her chin, gently, lifting her face to his, and he kisses her once, softly.

Gwen is sufficiently warm now. Almost too.

Hours later, Merlin's eyes blink slowly open. He feels like a hedgehog has died inside his mouth and trying to lift his head turns out to be laughable. Yet he feels slightly better. More than slightly. The sun is shining, and the world outside his window is shimmering with icicles and newly-fallen snow.

He hears the soft sounds of breathing coming from his right and he allows his heavy head to flop in that direction.

Gwen is tucked in Arthur's arms on the narrow convertible bed, a blanket over them. The tiniest smile is touching the corners of Arthur's lips, and Merlin doesn't think he's ever seen two people look more blissful together, more right together.

Finally. I almost had to die, but finally, he thinks.

"Merry Christmas, guys," he croaks softly.


	3. Twelve

**Prompt: Prompt: 12 days of Christmas my true love gave to me**

It's late, it's cold, and all I want to do is stoke up my little fire and crawl into my bed with three or four blankets.

I give the door an extra shove to make sure it's securely closed against the draft. I light a candle and am just about to turn to the wood box when I see it.

_What on earth?_ It's soft, but heavy, wrapped in parchment and tied with a red ribbon.

My heart pounds as I pull the ribbon, setting it aside. _Waste not, want not._ Inside is a large, thick wool blanket, red. I unfurl it and run my hand across its surface, finding it incredibly soft, like the blankets in the palace. A slip of parchment flutters to the floor.

_Stay warm._

I stare at it. I turn the parchment over and find nothing but a number _12_ written on the back.

_What does this mean?_

Someone obviously felt the need to gift me this blanket. I should appreciate it; it's beautiful and warm and softer than any of my blankets.

I wear the ribbon in my hair the next day, hoping to catch my mysterious benefactor. It doesn't work.

Back to my house that night, dark, cold. Snow lightly falling.

A large bundle of split logs, tied with a green ribbon this time. Another parchment.

_I mean it. Stay warm._

Apparently whoever is sending me gifts thinks I have trouble staying warm. _Well, you do, silly._

I turn over the parchment again. Today there is an _11_ on the back. He is counting down. But to what?

The new red blanket is very warm and cozy. I've slept better these last two nights than I have in weeks.

I wear the green ribbon, weaving it into the bodice of my dress this time. Still nothing.

Morgana sends me home immediately after dinner. I chide myself when I find myself wondering what gift will be waiting.

There is none. "Oh well," I say aloud, throwing a log into the stove and wrapping my red blanket around me.

Just as I sit, there is a hurried knock at my door.

"Yes?" I call, pulling the door open to find nobody there. There is a package at my feet. I look up and down the street and see nothing. Foolishly I look at the snow-covered road. _Like footprints would tell you anything, Gwen._

I pick up the package, tied with a white ribbon. Candles. Three long tapers.

_Your candles are getting low._

So he's observant. And has some coin. As expected, the back has a number _10._ I put the candles in a drawer for safekeeping and lie down on my bed to think.

My eyes drift closed and I fall asleep fully dressed, in my shoes, wrapped in the red blanket.

It continues for the next several days, and I realize that the numbers are counting down to the Winter Solstice.

A warm loaf of bread on day 9. _To warm your insides._

A linen handkerchief on day 8. _In case you get the sniffles. I hope you don't._ This one makes me smile.

A smooth stone, imprinted with the impression of a fern frond, as if it had been etched into the rock itself on day 7. _Beautiful and unique, like you._ This one is my favorite.

A small bone hair comb on day 6. _For your lovely curls._ I wear this the next day. I receive compliments, but no clues.

A fruitcake on day 5. _Sweets for the sweet._ I break off a corner. It is tasty and moist, filled with dried fruits and nuts.

A length of lavender silk on day 4. _I know you likely won't wear it._ I chuckle, torn between being touched and overwhelmed.

Day 3 brings a hard, flat package, tied with a gold ribbon.

It's a beautiful mirror. My one small mirror is covered in scratches and smears that will no longer clean. _My admirer has money to spare. Or he's a thief._ I look at the parchment.

_So you can see how beautiful you are._

Each day the gifts get more extravagant. I know who I _hope_ they are from, but I stubbornly push those thoughts aside, telling myself that there's no way. But these last two are quite extravagant, and the tiny hopeful part of me that lives in a hidden corner of my heart has decided to make a racket.

I push her back into her hiding place and stubbornly close my eyes. She comes back out while I sleep and takes over my dreams.

xXx

"Gwen, tell me," Morgana says the next night, angling her head.

"What, my lady?" I ask.

"You have a young man, don't you? Don't think I haven't noticed that you've been more eager to be off for home lately."

"I'm sorry, my lady. Have I been slacking in my duties?" I wring my hands lightly, worried that I've grown careless.

Morgana laughs. "No, not at all. You just seem like you've got something – or someone – to go home to lately. Plus I've noticed the new ribbons…"

"Oh, um…"

"So who is it?" she asks, leaning forward.

"No one, my lady."

"Come now, I won't tell."

"There is nothing to tell, honest. I've just been unusually tired." It is a lame excuse.

She regards me through slightly narrowed eyes; knows I'm not telling her something.

"I seem to have a secret admirer," I sigh.

"How exciting!"

"It's unsettling, but flattering. There's always something waiting for me in my house when I return. I guess I've gotten carried away."

"Nonsense," she waves her hand. "If I knew there were going to be gifties waiting for me when I got home each day, I'd scurry home as fast as my legs could carry me."

"Yes, my lady," I say, gathering her laundry and placing them in a basket.

"And you've no idea who this mysterious gift-giver is?"

"None."

"Gwen…"

"It's either someone with money or someone with light fingers. The gifts are becoming more extravagant as Solstice draws closer."

"It's tomorrow!"

"I know."

"How long has this been going on?"

"The past ten days."

"Maybe he'll reveal himself tomorrow!" she exclaims.

"I hope so," I answer. "I cannot take this much longer."

"Well, when you find out, do let me know."

I nod noncommittally and pick up my basket. "Will you be needing anything else tonight, my lady?"

"No. Go home and get your gift."

_What could possibly be waiting for me tonight?_ I find myself wondering as I walk through the dimly-lit corridors to the laundry.

So lost in thought am I that I run smack into someone as I round a corner, sending the basket from my hands, clothes scattering.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," I stammer, looking up.

It's the prince. I drop my eyes and hit the floor, scrambling for the clothing. "Forgive me, my lord, I wasn't watching where I was walking," I apologize as I stuff the clothes back into the basket.

"Guinevere, it was an accident," he interrupts, looking down at me curiously. "No harm done, see?" he holds his arms out and turns around.

I almost laugh. Part of me thinks he could lend a hand, but most of me knows that he is the prince and he doesn't have to pick up dirty laundry.

"Excuse me, Sire," I mutter and scoot past him, walking quickly down the hall. I don't notice the melting snow in his hair. I don't notice his eyes following my shape as I retreat.

Once home, I lean against the door, still flustered from running into the firm form of Prince Arthur in the corridor.

Day 2 is a vase of flowers. _How on earth did he find flowers?_ I look at the note.

_I know you like flowers. So I found flowers._

A tear slips from the corner of my eye. I lean forward and smell them. They smell like life and spring and everything I love.

The next morning I debate with myself. _Do I dare wear one in my hair? Will it attract too much attention?_

_Do I really care at this point? It's day one!_ I reach and pluck a small flower, a white Gillyflower, and tuck it into my hair, in back, where I've gathered my hair into a loose chignon.

The day crawls. The flowers impress Morgana as well. She gets a strange, thoughtful look on her face at one point, but when I question her about it, she claims indigestion.

It has stopped snowing, but the weather has turned colder still, and I walk home as quickly as my legs will carry me, and I am home in a matter of minutes.

The wind howls and batters at my small house, and I slam the door against it, leaning on it again, this time to catch my breath.

I almost don't want to turn around. I want the mystery solved, but part of me doesn't. That part of me that keeps creeping out of her cage relishes the attention, loves the fact that someone out there feels the need to gift me lovely things even though I am only a servant.

I turn around. There is nothing on the table, but there is a note. I hang my cloak on the door and walk slowly over.

_Look up._

I do. There is a sprig of mistletoe hanging from my ceiling. I flip the parchment over just out of habit and see the number _1_ on the back.

_Mistletoe. In here?_ I stare at it, frowning, frustrated.

"Guinevere."

A voice. _His_ voice. _No. It can't be. I'm imagining this._ Still, a gasp escapes my lips. I close my eyes and hear soft footfalls approaching behind me.

"Open your eyes," he says. _His voice is like silk and velvet and everything soft and luxurious._

"No," I whisper, keeping them closed.

"No?"

"If I open them, you won't be here, and then I'll know that I've gone mad." Still whispering.

"Is that so?" he asks, and I sense him stepping closer. I feel the warmth from his body and I long to step into his arms, into his warmth.

_This can't be._

But then I feel his fingertips, rough and warm at my chin as he tilts my face, angling it gently upward.

"Open your eyes," he repeats, his voice low. Almost seductive.

"I can't." His finger traces down my cheek now, and my knees nearly give way.

A moment later his lips are on mine, surprisingly soft and delicious. And warm, like the rest of him.

My eyes fly open for a moment, then they drift closed again as I become butter, melting as he kisses me.

I must start to actually melt because I feel his arm at my waist, supporting me. Vaguely I realize that my palms are resting on his chest.

It feels good. His arm feels secure. His lips feel amazing. Time stretches, slows, stops, then snaps back into the present when he withdraws his lips. I finally open my eyes.

"Why?" The question falls from my lips and I wish I could snatch it back and eat it.

He smiles down at me, his eyes soft and dark. His expression is one I cannot let myself acknowledge.

"Because I am completely smitten with you, Guinevere," he says plainly, leaning down to run his nose lightly along mine.

"Oh," I say, feeling ridiculous. My mind is gone. I am all heartbeat and breathing and I'm warm, so warm.

"May I kiss you again, or have I offended you?" he asks quietly, and I realize that he is unsure, worried that I don't return his feelings. Scared.

I take a deep breath, and, steeling my resolve, I reach up with my right hand and cup his cheek lightly, guiding his lips back down to mine.

I feel him smiling just before he kisses me again, and I allow that hidden part of myself a tiny dance of joy.


	4. Through the Snow

**Prompt: Dashing through the snow**

"Dashing through the snow, in a one-horse open sleigh…"

"Merlin, shut up!" Gwen snaps, navigating through traffic on the snowy highway, gripping the steering wheel like she's trying to strangle it. "And this isn't a sleigh, it's a Land Rover," she mutters.

"Dashing through the snow, in Gwen's black LR2…"

"Merlin…" she warns, hitting the brakes suddenly. "Ugh, if you're going to _just_ go the speed limit, get out of this lane!"

"Gwen, calm down," Merlin says.

"I don't know why I let you talk me into this, Merlin," she says, biting her lip, changing lanes.

"Exit, Gwen… Exit!"

"Bugger!" she checks her blind spot, cranks the wheel, and hits the exit ramp just in time.

"Whoa!"

"Sorry. I just… we need to get there. If he gets on that plane and goes back to Arizona…" she pauses, blinking tears out of her eyes so she can see, "I'll die. Inside."

"I know, Gwen. There. Parking garage."

"But what if he still goes, Merlin? What if I've come all this way only to be rejected? I'd be mortified. And then I'll die. Outside."

"Trust me," is all he'll say. He's poking at his phone now. "Brilliant."

"What?" Gwen says, pulling into a parking space.

"His flight's been delayed. Apparently it's snowing or something," he smirks.

Gwen snorts and practically jumps out of her car.

They run to the doors, pounding the elevator button frantically.

"Gwen, pressing it more than once doesn't make the lift come any faster."

"Yes, it does," she says stubbornly.

The elevator arrives. "See?"

They speed-walk through the terminal, Gwen pulling Merlin along behind her, weaving in and out through the throng of holiday travelers. She spies the monitors showing the flights.

_923 – TUSCON – DELAYED – E3_

"Gate E3, Merlin, this way," she says, yanking his hand again.

"I hope he's not through security yet," Merlin says.

"Thanks, something else to stress about," she grumbles.

"Oh, good, a long line," Merlin says, sighing in relief. They scan the travelers, looking for Arthur's blonde head.

"Is that him? No, that's a woman. I think," Merlin mutters.

"There," Gwen points, her voice leaving her.

"Arthur!" Merlin shouts, and Gwen hides behind him, hitting him on the arm.

"Ow!" he complains, then, walking closer, "Arthur!"

Arthur turns, his face bearing that telltale did-someone-just-say-my-name look.

"Arthur!" Merlin calls again, pulling Gwen with him now.

"Merlin?" Arthur asks, puzzled. "What are you… doing… here…?" His voice trails off as Gwen comes into view from behind Merlin.

Eyes wide, biting her lower lip, her breathing is shallow. Nervous. "Hello, Arthur," she finally squeaks.

"Guinevere," he breathes her name, forgetting his own now.

"Oi, move along, mate!" the man behind Arthur in line complains.

"Sorry," Arthur apologizes, stepping out of the line now, towards Gwen, staring as the noise and bustle of the airport terminal fades into the background. "What are you…?"

"Don't go," she whispers.

He stops. _Did she just ask me not to leave? Did I hear that right?_

"Please." She takes a step towards him.

Arthur's heart speeds up. His mouth is dry. _She wants me to stay. She wants me. To stay!_

"Say something, please," she says, tears starting to appear in her eyes as she starts to flush with embarrassment. _He wants to go._

"You want me to stay?" he finally asks, his voice barely audible.

"Only if you… if you want to stay," she answers.

"With you?" he asks, moving closer now so she has to tilt her face up to see him.

"That's what I was hoping," she answers, biting her lip again.

Arthur looks down at her, his eyes searching her upturned face, dancing across the scattering of freckles decorating her nose and pausing briefly at the translucent brown of her almond-shaped eyes before dropping to her slightly parted, lush lips, drawn in to the little o at their center. _I just want to live there._

His lips are on hers before he realizes what he's done, his bag suddenly but gently removed from his hand by (hopefully) Merlin, allowing him to pull her into his arms.

Gwen stiffens in surprise for just the briefest moment before melting into him, her arms coming up around his neck now as he leans into her, deepening the kiss.

Finally they come up for air, and Arthur glances up to see Merlin politely looking elsewhere, Arthur's small suitcase in his hand.

"Is that a yes?" Gwen asks, still clinging to him, her hand on his cheek now.

"Well, it is sunny and warm in Arizona…" he smirks, teasing. He kisses her once more, quickly, and adds, "but I have a feeling you'll keep me warm."


	5. Gingerbread

**Prompt: They came upon a midnight clear**

"Oh, God…" she gasps, his lips on her neck, heading for her cleavage. He eases her down on top of the pile of coats on a bed in a spare bedroom near the back of the house.

"You taste as good as you smell," he murmurs against her skin. "Like…" he pauses, pressing a delicious open-mouthed kiss just above her collarbone, "…gingerbread?" He lifts his head and looks at her.

"Scented and flavored shimmer powder," she explains, giggling.

"Very festive," he says, grinning lasciviously before dropping his lips back to her chest and working his hand up her thigh, under her skirt.

The mistletoe had been hung in the hallway just outside the loo. So anyone waiting in line for the toilet ran the risk of getting randomly snogged.

That's how it started.

Gwaine's annual Christmas booze-up was in full swing. Really it was just another excuse to host another party, something at which Gwaine was an expert.

Everyone he knew, he invited. Friends, coworkers, people he met on the bus that started out as strangers but ended up as friends before they reached their stop.

Gwaine was gregariousness defined. He collected friends like some people collected seashells, treasuring each one both for its unique beauty and its flaws.

He also enjoyed playing matchmaker. Hence the randomly-placed mistletoe, a different location each year, each year's location more deadly than the last. Outside the loo was a stroke of genius.

And when Gwaine had spotted his new friend Gwen join the queue behind his old friend Arthur, he had almost danced with glee. Instead he just grabbed Merlin, pointed excitedly, kissed him on the cheek, and bounded off.

One small, shy kiss had led to two. Two became three, four, and before long they were locked in an embrace fit for the cover of a romance novel.

Two bathroom visits and five minutes later, they were nowhere to be found.

"Ouch," she says, shifting beneath him. She reaches under her bum, produces a lavender umbrella, and tosses it absently to the floor.

He chuckles as he unbuttons her blouse, still kissing her. "Someone's going to be looking for that," he says.

"It's mine," she answers, and he laughs now. His laughter turns into a sharp gasp when he feels his belt being unbuckled and his fly being unzipped.

"Wait, I have a…" he starts fumbling for his back pocket and his wallet.

"I'm on the pill," she says, pulling his lips back down. "And I'm clean, I promise."

"Me, too," he says, "nothing dirty about me at all."

Now it is her turn to laugh.

His hand has worked its way up to her hip, his fingers squeezing her rear, finding it both supple and firm at once. Perfect. He gropes for her knickers, searching, searching until he finds the lace edge of what surely must be a thong.

He grabs and pulls, and she lifts her hips to allow him to slide them down and off. She takes the opportunity to push on his trousers now, shoving them down, freeing him.

She smiles when he takes a moment to take a peek at the panties in his hand before setting them carefully on the nightstand beside the bed so as not to misplace them.

"Very festive, those, too," he comments, smirking at the small piece of red lace he's just removed.

"I am very…" she pauses, distracted as he prowls up over her, "serious about my celebrating."

"Mmm," Arthur nods once, turning his attention back to her breasts, freeing one from the cup of her bra so he can close his mouth over its nipple, already stiff in anticipation of his kisses.

"Oh," she breathes, reaching for his erect shaft with one hand while threading her fingers into his blonde hair with the other.

She strokes him and he groans against her, and she feels it rather than hears it. He moves up to kiss her lips again, pulling her legs up around his waist now.

"Yes," she whispers, gently tugging his lower lip between her teeth, "now."

He positions himself at her opening, teasing her, making her wait, building the anticipation. She is still holding him in her hand and she gently tugs him toward her, sliding the tip along her folds.

"God," he gasps, both at the sensation and at how slickly wet she is for him. He waits until she moves him back into position and then plunges forward, entering her smoothly.

She moans and throws her head back, the furred edge of someone's hood tickling her cheek. He slides out and back in slowly at first, then building in speed and intensity until they are nothing but a writhing mass of partially-dressed flesh and desire.

"What's… what's your name?" he gasps, nibbling her ear, sucking lightly at her gingerbread-flavored neck.

"Gwen…" she gasps. "Guinevere."

"Guinevere," he repeats, and the way he says her name almost makes her come. "I'm Arthur."

"Arthur," she breathes, taking his face in her hands and pulling him to her, kissing him hungrily.

He thrusts harder now, reaching a frantic pace as their tongues battle and caress while his hand cups her one exposed breast, flicking his thumb across her nipple.

"Arthur, oh…" she tears her lips from his, her breaths coming in shallow gasps now as she arches under him.

Suddenly a clock that neither of them had noticed starts to chime.

Midnight.

Bong, bong, bong…

"Oh, God…"

Bong, bong, bong…

"Guinevere…"

Bong, bong, bong…

"Arthur…"

Bong, bong, bong.

"Oh… oh, Arthur!" she gasps, tightening her legs around him just as the twelfth bell chimes, and she hears a garbled cry exit his lips at the same time.

He stills, buried deep within her, his head on her shoulder, lips on her neck. She clutches his shoulders and slides her legs against his hips, caressing his naked backside with her smooth calves.

xXx

"Gingerbread?" Gwen turns at the sound of a familiar voice to see Arthur standing there with two cookies, offering her one.

"Thank you," she says, taking the boy-shaped cookie, leaving the girl for Arthur.

"Where did you two disappear to?" Gwaine asks, sauntering over to the pair, his eyes not-so-surreptitiously surveying them for any sign of a missed button or tousled hair.

"I didn't disappear anywhere," Arthur answers casually. "Bit of a line at the loo, but I've been about. Guinevere?"

"There are a lot of people here, Gwaine," she says, biting back her grin. "You can't keep track of everyone, now, can you?" She bites the head off of her gingerbread boy.

"I suppose not," Gwaine answers, eyeing them suspiciously.

"Gwaine," Merlin calls, "is there more eggnog?"

"Excuse me," Gwaine reluctantly takes his leave.

Arthur very pointedly bites his gingerbread girl's skirt, between her little brown legs. Gwen laughs, leaning into him, and his heart skips a beat.

"Good thing he couldn't see that I've got your panties in my pocket, hey?"


	6. Macaroni and Cheese and Pancakes

**Prompt: Arthur decides to surprise Gwen by making the Christmas dinner, now he regrets it...**

"Arthur, what are you doing?" Guinevere's groggy voice calls down from the bedroom. The noise of pots and pans jostled her from her drugged sleep.

"Nothing, love, go back to sleep," Arthur calls up, quietly cursing the stack of pots that came tumbling forth from the cupboard like an extraordinarily boring piñata.

_"Sprained ankle, badly bruised hip, dislocated shoulder, and a broken wrist, Mrs. Pendragon," the doctor had unceremoniously declared the day before in the emergency room. Gwen had taken a nasty spill on a patch of ice that had resulted in rendering her entire left side essentially useless._

_Arthur paced, helpless in the face of his beloved wife's pain, furious with Starbuck's for not having their walkway salted, on Christmas Eve of all days. After hearing his beautiful Guinevere swear more loudly and more vulgarly than anyone he'd ever heard in his life – and he played football – when the doctor wrenched her petite shoulder back into its socket, he demanded that she be given pain medication immediately. He even invoked his father's name, something he never does. Ever._

_"Send the bill to the Starbuck's on Tenth and Walnut," Arthur had snapped upon their departure, pushing Guinevere carefully to their car in a hospital wheelchair while she struggled to stay awake long enough to climb into the seat._

So now, on Christmas day, with Merlin and Morgana coming for dinner, Arthur had decided to make dinner. Even though Morgana had offered to order an expensive takeaway meal (neither of them could cook either, living from restaurant takeaway), even though Merlin had said don't worry about it, Gwen's health was more important, and they would stay home.

Arthur, in his pride, had insisted. And now he was experiencing regret. Deep regret. The turkey was still half-frozen. The stuffing was dry, and, from the smell of it, Arthur had mixed up the thyme and oregano, so now it had a decidedly and unintentionally Italian flair. The only thing about which he was certain was the cranberry sauce, and that was because it was tinned.

And now something was burning. Arthur opens the oven door to discover his dinner rolls turning black on the bottom. He takes the tray out and chucks the rolls in the bin, tossing the tray in the sink, where the hot metal hisses as it hits the small puddles collected in the sink.

_This. Is. It, _he decides. _If I can burn brown-and-serve rolls, I'm doomed._

"Arthur? Is something burning?"

He rushes to the window and opens it, the cold winter air flooding in through the kitchen window, and he waves a magazine in the air, attempting to herd the smoke out the window while he mutters a string of half-formed obscenities.

Arthur glances at the clock and fetches a glass. He fills it with water, dispenses two pills from a prescription bottle, and takes them up to his wife.

"Hey, love, how are you feeling?" he asks softly, sitting on the edge of the bed while she gingerly scoots up to a somewhat seated position to take her medication.

"Sore," she says, taking the pills and the water. "What is going on down there? You're not… trying to _cook,_ are you?"

"Maybe," he admits, leaning over to kiss her forehead. "You're warm. Are you all right?"

"Arthur, I just woke up, of course I'm warm," she says. "I don't have a fever, no. Can you sit with me a minute?"

"I can sit with you for two minutes, if you like," he says, climbing fully onto the bed, on her right side.

"How generous," she says, starting to lean over against him. "Ow," she says, straightening back up again.

"Here," Arthur helps her lie back down, and he lies down as well so she can lay on her right side, her head on his shoulder. She carefully rests her casted arm, festively crafted in red and white candy cane stripes, on his chest.

"Your fingers aren't as puffy," he observes. "That's good."

"Hooray," she says listlessly. Arthur strokes her hair, her soft cheek, careful not to wrap his left arm around her because his hand would land right on the large purple bruise on her hip.

"Would you like anything? Some toast? Tea? Should I turn on the telly?"

"I would love a hot bath, actually," she says with a sigh.

"I think I can manage that. Just keep your cast out of the water," he says, starting to move carefully out of the bed.

"In a minute," she says, holding him. "I want to stay here with you a little longer."

"Okay."

"What did Morgana say?"

"About?"

"Today, silly."

"They are still coming. Unless you don't want them to."

"No, I do. I can't stay in bed all day, now, can I?"

"Well, technically, you _can,_ but I know you won't," Arthur chuckles. "I'll go run your bath now," he says, kissing her forehead again.

"Nice and hot," she reminds him.

"I know, two degrees shy of scalding the flesh from your body, I remember," he says, strolling into the en suite bath and the large sunken tub.

Arthur helps her into the tub, threatening to put a garbage bag over her cast if she can't keep it dry.

"I'll be fine, Arthur. I'll call when I'm ready to get out or if I need anything, I promise."

"Okay. Don't fall asleep," he tells her, kisses her, and heads out, back downstairs. To the mess he's making of the kitchen.

_She's going to kill me when she sees this._

He stares, assessing the situation. _Okay. I admit this was a bad idea. Turkey? Not happening. So what can I do?_

Arthur pulls open the drawer hiding the trash bin, and chucks the stuffing in on top of the burned rolls. He puts the cranberries back in the pantry, and contemplates the turkey.

_Can't re-freeze it. I'll leave it to finish thawing and maybe Guinevere can talk me through what to do later, and we can just cook it and live on turkey for the next two weeks._

He shoves it aside, out of the way, and washes everything he's dirtied. _That way she can't yell too much._

"Arthur," Gwen calls a short time later, and he jogs up the stairs again.

Later, Gwen is settled on the couch with the television remote in her hand, in sweats instead of the cute grey striped sweater dress and leggings she had intended to wear. Arthur's brought her some tea and toast with marmalade, and she munches, bored, watching a show about crop circles and extra-terrestrials.

More clatter from the kitchen. "Arthur, what on earth are you doing?"

"Never mind," he says. "Just relax."

_Maybe Merlin and Morgana are bringing dinner,_ she thinks, idly wondering from which Chinese restaurant they'll be bringing the food. _I hope King's Wok. They have the best dumplings._

Arthur bustles around the kitchen, confident now. He's got this dinner thing sorted. _Even though it will not be a traditional Christmas dinner, it will definitely be memorable._

The bell rings just over an hour later, and he runs to the door, opening it for his best friend Merlin and his very pregnant sister Morgana. Morgana strides (waddles) in, heading immediately for Gwen on the sofa. Merlin staggers in behind, his arms full of gifts.

"Too much, Morgana," Arthur calls, taking some of the packages from Merlin and carrying them to the tree.

"You're not the boss of me," she snaps back, angling her head up so Arthur can kiss her cheek when he passes her.

"Gwen, how are you?" Merlin asks, crouching down beside the couch while Morgana scowls at him because she can no longer crouch. She hovers nearby on a soft chair instead, near Gwen's head.

"Half-busted, you?" she asks, and they all laugh.

"Worried that I'm going to have a baby on Christmas," Merlin answers, his eyes darting to Morgana.

"Yes, _you're_ going to have the baby," Morgana says, sarcastic but smiling at her husband.

"What's dinner?" Merlin asks, standing.

"Come on," Arthur yanks his shoulder. Morgana makes to stand, and both men turn and order her to sit.

Moments later the ladies hear Merlin's laughter from the kitchen and they look at one another.

"He's been in there all day," Gwen says quietly. "I'm more than a little worried."

"As well you should be," Morgana agrees.

About ten minutes later, Arthur and Merlin bring small folding tables out to the living room.

"We've decided to bring dinner to you," Merlin declares, setting a table in front of Gwen while Arthur helps her move so she is sitting up. They set another table in front of Morgana and then set two more for themselves before disappearing again.

"Dinner is served," Arthur announces, a plate in his hand, followed by Merlin with Morgana's plate. He sets it in front of Gwen, and she looks at it.

Macaroni and cheese. Applesauce, from a jar. Pancakes and sausages, already cut up for her. And ginger ale to drink.

Gwen's heart actually swells at how ridiculous, cute, and sweet this all is. She looks up at her husband, who now looks rather nervous. She smiles and tears well in her eyes. "Thank you, Arthur," she says. "I love it."

"You do?"

"Yes, I do. I love it because you tried. I'll even forgive whatever it was that you burned in the kitchen," she laughs, holding her hand out to him. He comes over and she tugs him down to kiss him.

"This is great, Arthur," Morgana says. "Definitely unforgettable," she says, smiling at Merlin as he comes in with two more plates for them.

"This is going to be the best Christmas dinner ever," she says, then looks at her plate. "Except for one thing."

"What?" he asks, his face falling.

"Syrup?"


	7. Apocalypse

**Prompt: Staying in bed instead of going to work on a cold December morning**

"Come on come on come on…" Arthur prompts in the doorway, a mantra to the small fluffy dog sniffing around in the frigid air. He dances on his bare toes, knowing that as soon as he turns away or decides to close the main door, she'll be back and scratching. Or worse, barking, which will make the neighbors cross at this early hour.

"Finally," he breathes, opening the glass storm door just enough to allow his number one fan and devotee, Jingle the corgi, back into the house. "Took you long enough," he grumbles, frowning down at her. She looks up at him and smiles her doggy smile up at him and he can't stay irritated.

"Don't give me that look," he says, but he smiles and reaches down to scratch between her ears. Jingle was his Christmas gift last year from Guinevere, and if you ask the dog, she will tell you that the sun rises and sets on her Arthur.

She follows him back up to the bedroom, where he hurriedly climbs back into the bed, spooning up against his sleeping wife. Jingle rests her front paws on the edge of the mattress, giving Arthur a pathetic "Can I come up and snuggle, too?" look.

"No," Guinevere says sleepily, knowing that Arthur is moments away from reaching down and scooping his dog up so she can curl up at his feet. "Go to your own bed, Jingle," she says gently, lifting her head slightly, and the dog acquiesces to Gwen's status as Alpha Female of the pack.

"Sorry, I didn't want to wake you," Arthur mutters, sticking his cold nose into her neck.

"The hell you didn't," she says, scooting away from him. "You're cold, go away."

"I need you to warm me up," he says, scooting after her. "It's colder than a ditch-digger's arse outside. I thought Jingle was going to freeze to the ground when she was doing her business."

"Arthur, that's gross," Gwen complains. Then she yelps when he slips his cold hand beneath the hem of her flannel pajama top, attempting to warm it on her stomach. "Get away!"

He laughs maniacally, squeezing her tighter. "Let's stay home today," he whispers in her ear, inspiration hitting him.

"I can't," she protests.

"You can," he presses, nibbling her now.

She closes her eyes again, and her mouth falls open in a small gasp as his hand finds her breast now beneath her pajamas. "How cold is it outside?" she asks, and he knows he's winning.

"Frigid," he murmurs, moving to her neck. "Arctic. Sub-arctic. Apocalyptically cold." He says all these things between kisses pressed against her warm skin, nudging her flannel collar out of the way as he goes.

"So the Mayans were right, then?" Gwen says, chuckling now.

"Is it the 21st?" Arthur lifts his head.

"Yes," she answers, turning in his arms to face him now.

"All the more reason to not go to work. If the world is ending today, I want to die in bed with my beautiful wife, preferably in the middle of—"

"Okay, we'll call in!" she interrupts him, laughing. "Though I don't think I'll use the Mayan-predicted apocalypse as my excuse."

"Chicken," he teases, releasing her so she can grab her phone. "And it's Friday, besides. So long weekend, too."

"Very long weekend," she comments. "Hi, Gaius, this is Gwen. I'm feeling a bit under today and I don't think I'll be making it in today. Happy Christmas," she says into the phone, changing her voice slightly, making sound weaker, slightly raspy.

"Voice mail?" Arthur asks, pulling her over.

"What about you?" Gwen counters, reaching across him – which he thoroughly enjoys – to hand him his phone.

Arthur sighs and takes the phone from her. "Hello, Father. I'm not coming in today. It's cold as sin out and the world might be ending, so I'm going to stay at home and spend the day in bed with Guinevere. See you Tuesday if we haven't all blown up by then."

"Arthur!" Gwen exclaims, giggling despite herself, shocked that Arthur would leave such a message for his father.

"What?" he asks innocently.

"You know _what,_" she scolds. "I'm going to have to face that man on Christmas, you know."

"Guinevere, we are married," Arthur says, pulling her on top of him now. "Surely my father must realize on some level that we engage in marital activities."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean he wants to hear about it. Or that I want him to know about it," she pouts.

"Well, if he expects grandchildren, and he does, then…" Arthur smirks, leaning up to kiss her tempting lips.

"Ugh," they say in unison.

"Break for teeth brushing," Gwen declares, climbing out of the bed and scurrying to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later they are back, bladders empty, teeth brushed, lips searching, hands groping.

Arthur's nimble fingers make quick work of the buttons on the front of Gwen's pajama top, her favorite pajamas, red with gold dragons. She'd bought them for Arthur, but he complained they were too warm. A couple washings in hot water later, they were small enough to not be completely falling off Gwen's petite body.

He tosses her top to the floor, narrowly missing Jingle, who lifts her head, sighs, and puts it back down just as Arthur's t-shirt joins the other garment on the floor.

Arthur leans over her, pulling the down-filled comforter up over his shoulders to shroud them, cocoon them from the cold. He straddles her, kissing her lips, sweeping his tongue, tasting the interiors of her mouth, now cinnamon-flavored from their toothpaste.

Her fingers find his sleep-tousled hair, sliding though the silken tresses, catching on a tangle or two as he moves his lips down her jaw to her neck, her collarbone, to her waiting breasts.

She arches against him, her body aching for his kisses, her hands reaching for his pajama bottoms, simple cotton stripe, pulling at them with first her hands, then feet, until he shuffles them off, leaving them abandoned beneath the blankets at his feet.

"Now you," he says, his lips still on her skin, pulling her pants down and off, disappearing beneath the blankets momentarily, only to kiss his way back up, starting at her knee.

Kneeling between her legs now, he trails his lips up her smooth thigh, lingering at her hipbones, teasing the apex of her thighs with his tongue briefly, too briefly, just long enough to make Gwen squirm and whimper.

She hooks a leg around his leg, running her foot along his calf while he kisses her stomach, back to her breasts, where his blonde head emerges from beneath the blankets finally to close his lips over a nipple.

"Arthur," she moans softly, pulling his hips toward her with her legs, drawing him towards her until she can feel his shaft against her, prodding her moist warmth.

He hums contentedly against her and she sighs as he kisses across to her other breast, tongue laving her nipple as he suckles her, his hands stroking her soft skin.

Gwen reaches down and takes his manhood in her hand, sliding her slender fingers on his firm length, the familiarity of its shape, its girth not detracting from the pleasure she feels from it, the excitement new each time.

"Love me, Arthur," she whispers, pulling him gently towards her. He groans and sinks slowly into her, savoring each moment, each molecule of her as she surrounds him.

"Oh…" he sighs, throwing his head back before returning to her lips, moving smoothly, almost leisurely. Indulgently. She tugs his lower lip between her teeth, sucking it into her mouth, closing her lips over his to kiss him greedily.

"Guinevere," he gasps, starting to move faster now, his desire building, his need growing.

"More…" she whimpers, "harder…"

He grunts a reply and thrusts harder, deeper, and she cries out as he finds that_ spot_ that she wants, needs, and she wraps her legs fully around him now, her hands clinging to his shoulders.

"Yes," she gasps as it builds, the blissful sensations overtaking them both, the heat intense between them now, and he throws the comforter back, off of their too-warm bodies, the motion delving him deep within her, and she cries out again.

Arthur repeats the motion and she comes, his name a half-formed shout from her lips. He thrusts a few more times before he finds his own release, surging forth, hot and wonderful.

They lay together, a tangled, spent mass of limbs, still joined, still clinging to one another.

"Okay, world, if you're going to end, do so now," Arthur says once he's regained his breath, his head on Gwen's chest.

"I'd really prefer it didn't, you know," Gwen says.

"Me, too," he agrees. "Besides, there's more I want to do to you – I mean, with you, today."

She laughs and leans her head down to kiss him. "But first, breakfast."

"Breakfast, indeed," he declares with a kiss, rolling them to their sides. "In bed."


	8. Quiet Noises

**Prompt: A/G get it on at the work Christmas party, but what they did not expect was that the rest of the party could hear them.**

"Where's Arthur?" Merlin sidles up beside Gwaine, reaching around him to the punchbowl. "Put that flask away," he chides his friend, just as he is about to spike the punch.

"What? It's just pineapple juice," Gwaine claims innocently, and Merlin snatches the flask from his hand, opens it, and sniffs.

"Sure, fermented pineapple juice," he rolls his eyes. "That's rum."

"Yo ho ho," Gwaine says, takes a small swig, then obediently caps it and puts it away. "And I haven't seen Arthur in at least ten minutes, to answer your question. Check the loo?"

Merlin scowls. "Just came from there," he answers, eyes scanning the room, looking for his friend's familiar blonde head.

"Now that you mention it, there's someone _else_ I haven't seen in about ten minutes, either…" Gwaine muses, smirking.

"Oh, no," Merlin groans. "Not…"

"The same."

"Lance is going to disappointed," Merlin says, spotting Lancelot in the corner, talking with Leon, but his attention is divided as his eyes keep darting around the room, searching for the dark mahogany curls that he has been pining after since she was hired as the new bookkeeper a month ago.

"You snooze, you lose," Gwaine says airily. "All's fair in love and war."

"Any other clichés you wish to dispense?" Merlin asks.

"Um, Absence makes the heart grow fonder? A journey of a thousand miles begins but with a single step? Can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs?"

"Gwaine…" Merlin attempts to interrupt, regretting his words now.

"All work and no play makes _Arthur_ a dull boy?" Gwaine gets one last one in.

"OKAY!" Merlin says a little too loudly, and several heads turn. Gwaine saunters away, grinning.

"Salesmen…" Merlin mutters, shaking his head, then heads to the buffet table, still trying to find Arthur.

A minute later, Gwaine has returned. Without a word, he pulls Merlin by the elbow into the corridor near the bathrooms, outside the janitor's closet.

"Gwaine, what—"

"Shh!" Gwaine puts his hand over Merlin's mouth. "Listen," he whispers.

"To what?" he whispers back, but just then he hears it: A soft moan. His eyes grow wide. "Is that…?"

"I would wager my Christmas bonus on it."

Now a shuffling noise from within the closet, followed by a masculine "oof" and a feminine giggle.

"What's going on?" Leon asks, wandering over with Percival.

"Shh!" Merlin and Gwaine chorus.

"Oh…" another muffled moan.

"Who's in there?" Percival whispers.

"In where? The closet?" Morgana has joined them now, drawn to the secretive gathering. She puts her arm around Leon's waist, and he kisses the top of her head.

As if answering thier question, Arthur's voice floats out from behind the door. "Oh, Guinevere…"

Percival's eyes widen; Leon's narrow. "We shouldn't be eavesdropping," the latter says.

Morgana muffles her laughter in Leon's chest, and he scowls down at her.

"Hey, _they're_ the ones going at it in the janitor's cupboard at the company Christmas party," Gwaine retorts. "I think that pretty well _ensures_ eavesdropping, mate."

"Arthur…"

All eyes snap back to the door now.

"Has anyone seen Gwen?" Lance asks the group loitering in the corridor.

"Shh!" they all hiss.

"What?" Lance asks, surprised at the reaction. "What the hell…?"

"Oh… yes…" Gwen's voice answers Lance's dangling question.

"Sorry, mate," Merlin says, but Lancelot is already walking away. Merlin is about to follow, but Gwaine stops him.

"Leave him," he says, uncharacteristically serious, and Merlin stays.

"How do you… oh… okay…" Arthur's voice now, followed by Gwen's giggle again.

"It's okay… I'm safe…" Gwen.

All attention is on the door once again.

"What is that?" The clatter of a mop handle follows this, then a panicked silence follows for a moment.

"I don't think anyone heard." Arthur.

"Come here." Gwen.

"My pleasure."

"Hopefully not just yours."

A masculine groan. A feminine gasp.

Quiet noises. Quiet, rhythmic noises. Quiet, rhythmic noises and heavy breathing.

"It sounds like they're running on a treadmill," Morgana whispers, chuckling.

"They may as well be," Gwaine comments. "They're working pretty hard in there."

"Oh, Arthur… oh…"

"Shh," Arthur attempts to quiet her, and her moans muffle slightly and their audience assumes he is kissing her to swallow her noise.

"He's good," Leon quietly blurts, earning him shocked looks from the others.

"Weren't you the one saying we shouldn't be listening?" Merlin asks, amused.

"When in Rome," he shrugs.

"Another cliché!" Gwaine whispers triumphantly.

"Ah… oh no… oh _yes_…"

"She likes to talk," Gwaine grins.

The quiet, rhythmic noises increase their speed.

More moans, soft cries. Arthur's half-formed named, muffled by a pair of lips. Moments later, a deep grunt, then silence.

"Good man," Gwaine nods his approval. "Make sure she gets hers."

"Why am I not dating _you_?" Morgana asks him.

"Because you think he's an overgrown child," Percival reminds her.

"Oh yeah, that's right," she answers, smiling up at Leon.

Silence. The closest and keenest ears can make out the sounds of their breathing as the two clandestine lovers return to earth.

"God, you are so beautiful."

"That was quite a Christmas gift."

Morgana giggles now.

"It's one that keeps on giving, you know."

"Oh no, Arthur…" Merlin laments, but then he hears Gwen's sweet laughter. "Okay, so she's immune to his cheesiness. Good."

Shuffling noises from within as they attempt to right their clothes. Their observers look at each other, silent looks of _what do we do now?_ passing between them.

But the knob is already turning. Gwaine fixes them all in a brief smirk, raising an eyebrow and lifting his hands.

Arthur opens the door, and the five companions in the hallway burst into applause and cheering.

Arthur slams the door quickly.

"Come on, mate, can't hide in there all night," Gwaine goads them.

"And we're not going anywhere, so you may as well face us," Morgana adds.

Slowly the doorknob turns again, and Arthur's very red face peeks out.

"You are all a bunch of twats," he declares, coming out, Gwen emerging shyly behind him, half hiding behind his back.

"Sorry," Merlin laughs, "but you brought this on yourselves, you know."

"Shut up," Arthur snaps, but there is a grin threatening to burst through. "And it's not me you should be apologizing to."

"Sorry, Gwen, we don't mean to embarrass you," Leon says, and the others echo his sentiments.

"Come on, your hair's a mess," Morgana steps forward to pry her away from her brother's grasp.

Arthur holds fast, taking the briefest moment to look down at Gwen. "Your hair looks perfect," he mutters, tilting her chin up to kiss her.

"You would think that because you _caused_ it, Arthur," Morgana snaps at him, succeeding in removing Gwen. Gwen sneaks one last look back at Arthur before Morgana whisks her into the ladies'.

"Well done, mate," Gwaine says, slapping Arthur on the shoulder. Arthur shoves his head in response.

"He's completely in love," Merlin declares.

_Yeah, I am,_ Arthur thinks, and a grin slides across his face. "Best Christmas party ever."


	9. Cookies

**Prompt: Arthur and Gwen bake Christmas cookies together**

"Merlin, can you help me with—" Arthur stops cold, staring at the person in his kitchen. "You're not Merlin," he says dumbly, finishing pulling his tie free from its knot.

"Hi, Arthur," Gwen answers, chuckling. She is measuring flour into a bowl. "Sorry, Merlin took an extra shift at the hospital. My oven is broken, and he said I could bake my Christmas cookies here. Hope that's okay."

"Um, yeah," he stammers. "It's fine, Guinevere." Arthur is thrown by her appearance in their apartment. Certainly he knew Guinevere. Well, he'd met her once or twice through Merlin. He didn't work at the hospital with them, preferring a life of mergers and acquisitions over saving people's lives.

What's really thrown her is the fact that she's standing there in a rather tight t-shirt, her hair in pigtails, a smudge of flour on her cheek. Usually she's in scrubs with her hair up. He'd be lying to himself if he said that he'd never found her attractive, but today, right now, she looks completely adorable.

"Arthur?" Gwen prompts, noting his stare.

"Can you help me with these?" he asks, offering a wrist. "I seem to have issues with cufflinks."

"Sure," she says, wiping her hands on her butt before stepping around the table to him. Arthur looks down, amused, to see she has an apron around her waist. Backwards.

"I thought those were supposed to go the other way," he says, holding his hand out so she can deposit the first cufflink into his palm.

"This way works better for me," she chuckles, turning. "See?"

Arthur looks to see what is clearly a series of hand-wipings on the apron, one hand per (very round and attractive) cheek. "Um, yeah," he says. "Thank you," he adds, taking the second cufflink now.

A few minutes later he has returned to the kitchen, in comfortable clothes now, drawn like moth to flame. "What kind of cookies are you making?" he asks, helping himself to a glass of water.

"Sugar. Would you… would you like to help?" she offers, puzzling over why on earth she thinks he would like to help.

"Can I?" his voice is small, like a small boy.

"Sure. Your table is taller than mine; I can't get good leverage to roll out the dough." Suddenly Gwen remembers something Merlin has told her: Arthur's mother died when he was very young. And she was a pastry chef.

Arthur comes around to Gwen's side of the table. She passes him the rolling pin. She's got the dough shaped into a fat disc on the floured table already, so he sets the pin on the dough and pushes.

Pushes the rolling pin straight through the dough, bisecting it roughly, smearing the back chunk backwards.

"Oh," he says, lifting the pin.

Gwen laughs and steps over, gathering the dough back together, sprinkling more flour. "Not so hard," she says gently. "It's not a rival company you are trying to crush, Arthur. It's cookie dough. Here," she hands him the rolling pin again, and tries to show him what to do, reaching around him but finding her face to face with the very solid wall of Arthur's back.

_He smells really good,_ she thinks fighting the urge to nuzzle. _You barely know him, what are you doing?_

"Um, right. That's not going to work," she recovers her sense and speaks. "Wait." Gwen tucks herself under Arthur's elbow, standing in front of him now. She places her hands over his on the rolling pin and guides him, pushing gently, pausing to show him how to roll in several directions, spreading the dough out until it is an even layer on the table.

Arthur is trying to pay attention to what he's supposed to be doing. He's struggling with her small hands over his, the lavender scent of her hair, her distracting backside occasionally brushing his groin.

"Now what?" he almost whispers.

"Now we cut out the cookies and put them on the trays to bake," Gwen answers, just as quietly. She puts her hand on his forearm and he moves it, reluctantly releasing her.

She comes back with several shapes: a bell, a star, a tree. Arthur takes the star with a wistful smile.

"Press straight down. Don't scoot it," she says, pressing the bell cutter into the dough, close to the edge.

Arthur follows suit with his star, but he presses it in right in the middle.

"Arthur! Keep them close together, so we don't have wasted dough," Gwen admonishes, but she is giggling.

"Sorry," he says, watching as she turns the bell cutter and fits it next to the first cut, impressed at how she can get them so close, almost as if they were puzzle pieces. He frowns, concentrating, and presses another star, close to the first.

Gwen looks up at his face, smiling at how he's taking this so seriously. _It's really cute. I wonder…_

"Can I ask you something?" Gwen ventures, reaching for the tree cutter now.

"Mmm-hmm," he answers, still focused on his task.

"Did you… did you do this with your mum when you were little?" she asks, very quietly.

He doesn't answer for a minute, he just contemplates the star cutter. "Yes. It's one of the few things I remember of her."

"The star?" she prompts, touching a corner with her fingertip.

"My favorite. I was…" he stops, flushes red a moment, and cuts another cookie.

"You were what?" she asks, her hand on his arm again.

"Promise you won't tell Merlin," he answers. As he looks at her, his expression softens from sad to sweet.

"I won't say a word," Gwen breathes, her brown eyes meeting his blue ones.

"I was her little star."

Gwen smiles, but says nothing. She lifts up on tiptoe and kisses his cheek, then quickly moves back to the dough, peeling the excess away around the cookies and wadding it into a ball.

She shows him how to move the cookies onto the parchment-lined trays, and soon they are in the oven, only one star looking slightly more like a starfish now because its points got slightly stretched and bent.

"Christmas Starfish," Gwen had declared.

"We shall call him Patrick," Arthur nods, and Gwen laughs. "I have nephews," he explains quickly, not wanting her to think that _he_ watches SpongeBob.

"Whatever floats your boat," she says, holding her hands up. "Now, we re-roll the scraps and do it again."

This time Arthur is able to roll the dough expertly, though he contemplates messing it up again just to make her come back into the circle of his arms.

As they work, Arthur's wistful sadness lifts from his shoulders. She teases him about his inability to properly sprinkle flour, resulting in another hands-on lesson. He keeps sneaking bites of dough, thinking she's not seeing him.

"When do we decorate them?" he asks. _Wait, 'we'? What am I committing myself to?_

"Depends. If we want to be lazy, we can sprinkle colored sugar or other sprinkles on them now. Or we can frost them once they're cool, which is what I usually do."

"Okay." He reaches across her for the rolling pin again just as she reaches across him for the last scrap of dough, and they pause a moment, face to face, both leaning over the table.

Arthur finally reaches up and brushes the smudge of flour from her cheek with his thumb. "Been there since I got home," he mutters.

"Oh," Gwen answers, blushing a little, embarrassed. "Arthur…" she starts, not exactly sure what she wants to say, but he never gives her the chance anyway.

His lips find hers, softly, testing. Warm. Succulent. Her eyes flutter closed and she feels his hand lingering at her cheek, his long fingers caressing her neck.

The timer dings, and they part, blinking at each other.

"Wow," she breathes.

"Yeah," he agrees. "I heard bells." He smirks at her, eyes twinkling, and she swats his chest to go rescue her cookies.

Merlin returns home an hour later, tired. The apartment smells fantastic, though, and he knows Gwen has been busy. He heads to the kitchen, hoping for a sample.

The kitchen is empty; racks of cookies are cooling on the counters and table.

"Gwen?" he calls. Then, warily, "Arthur?"

He reaches Arthur's bedroom door, knocks and opens it before he is bidden enter.

"Whoa! Sorry!" Merlin blusters, slamming the door, the image before him seared into his brain, never to be unseen.

_Arthur quickly pulling the blankets up, covering Gwen's curvy brown body, his leg draped over hers, her hand on his chest. He is kissing her all the while._

Merlin walks back to the kitchen, befuddled, not sure if Gwen even noticed. "Nevertheless, I think they owe me a cookie," he says, snatching one from a rack.


	10. The Snow King

******Disclaimer: post S5 period AU. Everyone is alive, Morgana knows about Merlin's magic and is a diminished villain.**

**Prompt: Merlin the sorcerer accidentally turns Arthur into a snowman. The cure? He must be kissed by his true love, Gwen. The problem? Morgana, a sorceress, has fun by multiplying the amount of snowmen to hundreds. Can Gwen find the right one before Arthur melts by the sun? True love must decide.**

"Merlin, this isn't working," Arthur complains, the snowball disintegrating in his glove. Again. He tosses the remaining snow back on the ground as if he is punishing it.

"I told you it wouldn't, Arthur," Merlin says, sighing and shivering at the same time. "I told you that this is the wrong kind of snow."

"What on earth does that even mean, 'Wrong kind of snow'? It's snow!"

Merlin rolls his eyes. "You know, for being king, you really know very little about common things."

"Exactly," Arthur replies, crossing his arms across his chest. "I don't need to know about common things _because_ I am king."

"Gwen knows about them."

"Well… um…" Arthur stammers. They both know the reason why, but Arthur hates being reminded that he still has a tendency to think of himself as _better._ Something that both Merlin and Gwen leap on every chance they get. Of course.

"Because Gwen has been a commoner most of her life, right?" Merlin smirks.

"Shut up."

"Even if she wasn't, she'd still at least make the effort."

"Shut _up_, Merlin."

"You can't make a snowman for Gwen, Arthur," Merlin states plainly.

Arthur pouts. Then his face lifts. "Well, maybe not, but you can."

"Arthur…" Merlin sighs, "I am not going to magic you a snowman just so you can surprise Gwen. The point is you were going to do it as a surprise for her." He crosses his arms over his chest now.

"Well, if I'm _telling_ you to make the snowman, that's as good as, right?" Arthur asks.

"No. And you know that, Cabbage Head."

"I just really wanted to do this for her," Arthur sighs, leaning heavily against a tree. The weight of his body jostles the tree and some snow drops on his head. "Ah!" he exclaims, jumping out from under the tree.

Out from under the tree and right into the path of Merlin's spell. The wizard had decided to take pity on his perpetually lovestruck king, and was just conjuring a snowman for him when he landed in the wrong place.

And now Arthur is a snowman. A six-foot-tall, perfect snowman with blue button eyes, a carrot nose, and a red scarf.

"Arthur?" Merlin asks, his voice small. _I didn't know that could even happen_, he thinks, staring, dumbfounded, at King Snowman.

_I can fix this._ Merlin conjures another spell, attempting to transform him back. Nothing. He tries another. Still nothing.

_Damn! I wonder… is this one of those kinds of spells… Arthur wanted to do this for Gwen because he loves her so much. She had been so sad, talking about how she and Elyan always made snowmen, and Arthur had wanted to build her a snowman so she wouldn't miss her brother so much. I think I need Gwen._

"I'll be right back, Arthur," Merlin says, not sure if Arthur can even here him. "Um, stay here."

Merlin runs toward the castle, unaware that his actions were being monitored.

Morgana laughs with sadistic glee, gazing down at her snowman brother from the top of a nearby hill. "Snowman. Merlin, your magic never ceases to amuse me. Let's see…" she thinks, tapping her finger on her lips.

Moments later she surveys her work, satisfied. "Yes. This should do nicely," she nods to herself. "One last thing, though," she says, chanting again.

"Merlin, what on earth are you talking about?" Gwen says as Merlin pulls her out to the field where he had left Arthur.

"I screwed something up and you need to fix it, okay. You'll understand in… a… min… ute…" his voice trails off and his feet slow as they approach the field.

There are at least 100 snowmen standing there, like some kind of bizarre polar army.

"Merlin?"

"Morgana," Merlin grumbles. "I took away half of her powers and she can still manage mischief."

"Which one is Arthur?" Gwen asks, somehow having figured out what Merlin did.

"I don't know. When I left, there was only one."

Just then, the clouds part and the sun shines through, warm and strong. "Great," Merlin exhales.

"So I'm correct in presuming that you somehow turned my husband into a snowman, then?"

He nods.

"What do I need to do?"

"I'm hoping you just have to kiss him. He wanted to come out here and build you a snowman. To surprise you, you know?"

"This isn't the right kind of snow for building things," Gwen says, as if it is an obvious fact.

"I tried telling him that, but he was so upset that he couldn't do this for you, and… is it getting warmer?" Merlin asks, loosening his scarf.

"I think so. Is Morgana strong enough to make the sun come out?"

"Apparently so," Merlin sighs.

"Then we'd better hurry. I need to find Arthur," Gwen says hurrying forward now, looking down at the ground.

"What are you doing?" Merlin asks, following.

"Footprints. I guess I'm tracking where you were," she says. Arthur would be proud of me.

"Smart," Merlin nods. In a short time they have it narrowed to about three snowmen. All have blue button eyes, carrot noses, and red scarves.

"Which one?" Merlin asks, unwinding his scarf completely now. Gwen is pulling her gloves off.

She looks at the snowmen. "You can't tell?" she asks, turning.

"No. They're _all_ magic, so, no," he frowns.

Gwen steps to the first possible one and gently presses her hands to the sides of the snowman's face, gazing up at it. She steps to the next and repeats the action. And then the third.

"Gwen, the sun…"

"I know," she says, stepping back to the first one. This time she puts her hand to the snowman's chest, over where his heart would be, if he had one. Then over to the third snowman, same action.

Gwen pulls the fur-lined hood of her cloak down off her head now, and strides back to the first snowman.

"This is my husband," she declares, and, leaning up on tiptoe, presses a kiss to the snow, angling her head to avoid the carrot protruding from its face.

She steps back and watches, holding her breath. A moment later the snow starts to quickly melt, pouring down as water, and soon a blonde head emerges, dripping wet.

And angry.

"Merlin," Gwen says, looking back over her shoulder, "run."

"Yes, my lady," Merlin says, taking off like a shot, dodging through the field of melting snowmen clones. He's gone before Arthur has completely thawed, off to hide somewhere out of reach of the king until Gwen has calmed him down.

The first word out of Arthur's mouth when he's fully himself again is, "Cold." Gwen takes off her cloak and wraps it around him, over his shoulders.

"I can't wear this," he protests, shivering. "It's… purple."

"Don't be such a baby," Gwen says, leading him back to the castle. "You're soaking and it's warm and dry."

"Going to kill Merlin," he says crossly.

"It was an accident, Arthur," she says, her voice calm, smooth, as if she were addressing a child.

"He turned me into a snowman."

"I believe he was making a snowman because you told him to. From what he told me, you jumped in the way."

Arthur scowls, saying nothing as she leads him inside the castle and up to their quarters.

"The king needs a hot bath," Gwen says to the first servant she sees.

"Yes, my lady," the servant answers and hurries away.

"Why are you taking his side?" Arthur asks once they are in the privacy of their rooms, letting Gwen peel his wet things from his frozen body.

"Because you were abusing Merlin's abilities for your own indulgence," Gwen says, kissing him.

"I was… using the tools available to me to make a surprise for my beautiful wife," he protests, letting Gwen wrap him in a blanket.

"And I appreciate the thought, Arthur, really, I do. I love that you were trying to build a snowman for me so I wouldn't miss my brother. But I don't think Merlin is entirely at fault here."

There is a knock at the door and the servants are bid enter with the bathtub and lots of hot water.

"Thank you," Gwen tells them once the bath is ready. "I will attend him; you may go."

"Yes, my lady," the servant answers. They look slightly puzzled at the cold, wet king, but they say nothing, exiting quickly.

"I'm glad you sent them away," Arthur says, stepping into his tub, sinking down to his ears. "Care to join me?" he asks, a sly look on his face. He reaches for her hand and pulls it to his lips, trailing wet kisses up her arm.

"Not this time," she says, "just sit there and get warm."

"Okay," he pouts. She leans over and kisses his lips, still cold but warming, and his hand comes out of the water again, reaching up behind her neck, trying to coax her into the tub with him using his kisses.

"I'm warmer now," he mutters against her lips, and she giggles.

There is another soft knock on the door, and Gwen stands with a sigh. "One moment," she calls, looking down now to see that the shoulder of her dress is now wet from Arthur's arm.

"Yes?" she opens the door. The servant's eyes flit to her wet shoulder for just a moment.

"Shall I bring lunch, my lady?"

"In a little while, yes. Something warm. The king has gotten a chill and needs good, hot food."

"Yes, my lady," the servant nods to her.

Gwen is about to close the door when Arthur's voice comes booming from behind her.

"No carrots!"


	11. Crackers

**Prompt: Christmas cracker**

**If you don't know what these are (from Wikipedia):**

**_Christmas crackers, Christmas poppers_**** or bon-bons are part of Christmas celebrations in the UK and Commonwealth countries such as Australia, Canada, New Zealand and South Africa, as well as the USA to a lesser degree. They are also popular in ****Ireland****. A cracker consists of a ****cardboard**** tube wrapped in a brightly decorated twist of paper, making it resemble an oversized ****sweet-wrapper****. The cracker is pulled by two people, and, much in the manner of a ****wishbone****, the cracker splits unevenly. The split is accompanied by a small bang or snapping sound. …Typically [the] contents are a colored paper hat or crown; a small toy, small plastic model or other trinket and a motto, a joke, a riddle or piece of trivia on a small strip of paper.**

"Crackers, Arthur, really? Are we twelve?" Gwen asks when he appears with a box of the Christmas favors, striding into the living room of his spacious penthouse.

He circulates around the room, holding the box down for everyone to choose one.

"Not that one," he says quietly when Merlin reaches for a bright red one with gold ribbons.

"Why not?" Merlin asks. "I want that one."

"No. You. Don't."

"God, you are such a child," Merlin huffs, choosing a different one.

Arthur goes to Gwen next, and there are only two crackers left in the box. He takes them both out and hands her the red one.

"I wanted that one," Gwen says, pointing to the one in Arthur's hand.

"Too late," he shrugs. _Why is everyone being so difficult?_

Merlin holds his out and Freya tugs the other side, and it opens with a _pop_ and a piece of candy falls out.

Freya returns the favor, holding hers for Merlin, and she gets a small top. She spins it on the coffee table, where it twirls, eventually spinning off the edge and landing on the floor.

Morgana and Gwaine share theirs between them. Elyan holds his out for Mithian and she, him. Leon and Percival, the lone bachelors, shrug and assist one another.

"Arthur, what are you waiting for?" Gwen asks, holding her cracker out for him.

"Oh, sorry, was just watching the others," he says, reaching up to grasp the other side.

They pull, and it breaks open with a _pop_. A small item falls into Gwen's lap, wrapped in a slip of paper.

"What is this?" Gwen picks it up. It's heavy. She unfolds the paper, and gasps when she finds a ring inside. On the slip of paper are two words: _Will you?_

Her free hand, trembling slightly, flies to her mouth as she stares.

"Guinevere?" Arthur asks softly, his heart in his throat. Every eye in the room is on Gwen. No one breathes.

"Yes, Arthur, of course I will," she whispers, flying into his arms, knocking him backwards against the arm of the sofa.

Arthur laughs delightedly, holding her, kissing her while her joyful tears wet his cheeks.

They finally pull away from each other to see their friends standing and making to leave.

"It's early, why are you all leaving?" Arthur asks, holding Gwen in his lap now.

"We're leaving so the two of you can be alone," Gwaine answers, holding Morgana's coat for her as she slides her arms into the sleeves.

"You don't have—"

"We know that," Freya says quietly. "But nevertheless, we are. Come on, Love," she says to Merlin, taking his hand.

"You're right, I definitely did not want that one," Merlin says to Arthur, slapping his shoulder. "Well done, mate."

"Thanks. Now get out," Arthur laughs.

Congratulations are offered, goodbyes are said, and soon they are alone. Arthur walks over to Gwen, kisses her softly on the lips, and takes the ring out of her hand. He kneels down in front of her and looks up into her sweet face.

"Guinevere, will you make me the happiest man in the world and be my wife?"

"Yes, Arthur," she whispers, still not trusting her voice to work properly. Arthur takes her left hand, kisses the third finger, and slides the ring onto it.

"It fits," she breathes, holding it up for inspection. "It's perfect Arthur, I love it. I love you." She pulls him to his feet.

"I love you, Guinevere," he answers, enfolding her in his arms and dropping his head, kissing her again. She winds her arms around his neck, on tiptoe, kissing him back with equal urgency.

"We'll clean this up in the morning," he murmurs against her lips. Without warning, he bends and sweeps her into his arms.

"Arthur!" she squeals. "You never opened your cracker, you know," she says as he carries her back to the bedroom.

"At the moment there's a present I'm much more interested in unwrapping," he grins at her, kicking the bedroom door behind them.


	12. More Than Enough

**Prompt: Arthur is an artist. He needs a model and he paints nudes. Gwen is a model in need some quick Christmas cash.**

Gwen looks at her phone again, checking the address. _397 Chestnut Lane._ She sighs and walks up the four steps to the door and presses the bell.

"Yes?" a smooth baritone voice answers a moment later.

"Um, hello, this is Gwen Leodegrance. The model you hired?" she winces, hating that the last bit turned into a question. She's never seen this Arthur Pendragon (if that is his real name) before, but he has the sexiest voice she's ever heard, and it's been gnawing at her for two days.

"Third floor, apartment B," the voice tells her, and the door buzzes. She opens it and hurries inside, out of the cold.

Gwen looks around. _No lift._ Sighing, she heads for the stairs, grateful for her rigorous workout routine.

_Apartment B. Here we are._ She walks to the door and knocks.

The door opens a moment later and she looks up into a face that could not have been crafted by God. "Um, hello," she says, wondering who his plastic surgeon might be.

"Hello?" she repeats. _Why is he staring?_

"Yes, come… come in, please," he recovers, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "Gwen, was it?"

"Well, my full name is Guinevere, but I go by Gwen," she explains, unwinding her long scarf from around her neck.

"Guinevere," he says, trying it out. She drops her phone.

"Sorry," she mutters, retrieving it.

"Silence your phone, please," Arthur says, striding to his easel in the corner. "I don't like to be disturbed." He starts digging through paint tubes, looking for something.

"All right," she says, puzzled. He's curt, but incredibly attractive. _And the way he said my name,_ she thinks, biting her lower lip. "Where would you like me?" she asks, snapping back into reality.

"Hmm?" his head snaps up, his eyes roving over her body.

"Where would you like me?" she repeats, blushing now, the innuendo in her question suddenly hitting her.

It doesn't seem to be lost on Arthur, either, because he clears his throat again, a tube of brown paint clutched in one hand. "You can change in the bedroom," he points, his voice soft and low. "There's a robe hanging on the back of the door. I'm… having to change my original plan a bit now that I see you in person."

"All right," she says, puzzling at him again. _What an odd thing to say._ She looks and sees a dark red velvet chaise lounge set near the window, the bright winter sun shining in.

Shrugging, she goes into the room and shuts the door.

Arthur putters, trying to decide. His original plan was to place her on the chaise, but he doesn't think her coloring will complement the dark red of the bench. _She's like cinnamon. Mocha. Caramel. I need a lighter backdrop to highlight that._

Frowning, and suddenly wanting a snack involving cinnamon and caramel with a Latte on the side, he drapes a cream-colored sheet over the chaise, arranging it until it looks satisfactory. He pulls a potted palm over, and inspiration hits.

Gwen emerges, wearing the too-big robe. "What kind of models do you usually paint? Amazons? Basketball players?" She holds her hands out, the sleeves hanging off.

"Oh, shit. Sorry. That's the wrong robe. I forgot to put the other one out," Arthur says, smirking slightly. "That one is mine." _And she looks too good in it._

She shrugs and walks over to the chaise. "Here?"

"Yes. Can you… can you braid your hair please?" he asks, digging in a large trunk.

"Um, sure. Just one?"

He nods and watches, mesmerized, as she easily pulls her beautiful hair back, winding it together.

"I do like your hair," he says, almost apologetically, "but it won't do for what I have in mind."

Gwen goes to her bag and pulls out a simple black hair elastic, securing the end with it.

"All right," Arthur says, motioning to the covered chaise.

Gwen walks over and drops the robe, surprised at the nerves she feels. _It's not like I've never done this before_, she thinks, sitting now.

Arthur, to his own horror, is caught staring. _Like a bloody adolescent,_ he thinks, angry with himself. _But still: wow._ His hands twitch. They want to run themselves all over that skin now bared to him.

_Steady, man._ He walks toward her and, very gently, places a gold circlet on her head. "Lean back," he mutters, and she slides lower. "Rest your head there."

More orders, more arranging. "Bend your knee." "Relax your hand." His fingers brush her skin from time to time and she tries not to jump as his touch sends tingles through her body, settling between her legs.

Finally he drapes the other object over her body: a rubber snake, black, its head on her shoulder, its tail brushing her thigh.

"There. Now you're Cleopatra," he says, his voice still low and soft. Gwen chances to look up at him into his eyes, and gasps slightly. His blue eyes are dark, passion-glazed, and she realizes that it is not just she who is attracted to him.

"Am I dead?" she whispers, afraid to move.

He tucks a stray curl behind her ear, and boldly leans in close. "Almost," he whispers in her left ear.

Goosebumps erupt all along her left side. Arthur sees this and asks, "Are you cold?"

"No," she answers, still afraid to raise her voice above a whisper. Nevertheless, he strides to a wall and notches the thermostat up a bit.

Finally he goes back to his easel, and the only thing he says for at least an hour is: "Close your eyes, but do not fall asleep."

She returns the next day, same time, her hair already done. The other robe is there this time, but she takes Arthur's anyway.

Arthur smirks at her when she comes out in his robe again, but says very little. She arranges herself remarkably close to how she was the previous day, which impresses Arthur.

"You're smarter than most models I've dealt with," he comments, placing the snake again.

"It was here," Gwen says, her fingers touching his as she moves the head just slightly, back to where it was yesterday. "And thank you," she says to his compliment.

"Yes, you're right," he says, puzzling as he looks at his hand where her fingers have touched his.

He talks a little more today. "Why did you answer my advert?"

"I needed some money, obviously," she answers, moving very little.

"What for?"

"I don't believe that's really your business."

"Fair enough."

And he says nothing more.

The next day Arthur is grumpy. He says almost nothing. When he drapes the snake across her again, he mutters, "Should be done today."

_Is that why he's grumpy?_ Gwen wonders, and finds that it makes her a little sad as well. She was looking forward to coming back the next day.

He regards her for a moment, his eyes softening. Then he runs a single finger down her cheek, a lover's caress, before striding away to his easel.

"It's for my father," she says eventually.

"What is?" Arthur asks, a little sharper than he intended.

"The money. We want to fly my brother home for Christmas."

"Oh," he says softly, feeling like a heel. He had been assuming she wanted the cash for a new Coach bag or some Louboutins or some other frivolity. Or maybe just Christmas gifts. "Where is your brother?"

"Mongolia. He's in the Peace Corps."

_And I suppose his name is Tiny Tim?_ Arthur finds himself thinking. "Wow," is all he can think to say.

He works quietly for a bit, waging a silent internal debate while Gwen lounges in her false half-dead state, Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile, waiting for the Asp's venom to take effect.

"Guinevere," Arthur says suddenly, and Gwen's skin tingles again, a physical response to her name on his lips.

"Hmm?"

"Can you come back tomorrow?"

"You're not going to be done with the painting?" she asks, cringing at how clearly hopeful her voice sounds.

"I'll… I'll be done," he mutters. "I was wondering if you'd come back… to… just…"

Gwen tries not to smile he is so cute in his bashfulness. "Yes, Arthur," she says, her voice betraying her again. It is breathy, wanting.

He just drops his brush and stalks over to the chaise, standing over her for a moment as he decides what to do. Her eyes are still stubbornly closed, but he can tell by her breathing that she knows he is near.

Gwen is waging her own internal debate now. _What is he doing? Is he making an adjustment? Is he going to…_

She feels the rubber snake lifted from her body and only just hears the faint _splat_ when it lands because his lips are on hers at the same moment, soft but passionate, hungry, his tongue quickly searching hers out.

Gwen moans into his mouth and her hands find his hair, reveling in the texture of their silken threads.

"Shit," he gasps the curse, climbing over her on the chaise now, yanking at his paint-splattered t-shirt and throwing it behind him.

"God," Gwen answers, her hands reaching for his jeans, opening them and helping him shed them in record time.

"You are distractingly beautiful," he mumbles, his lips against her skin, the skin he has been longing to touch, caress, feel writhing beneath him. "I've painted a lot of models, but you're the first one I've ever wanted to…"

"Shut up, Arthur," Gwen scolds lightly, silencing his lips with hers.

Their hands explore, their lips explore, each loving their discoveries, each wanting more and more as their limbs tangle on the narrow chaise.

He kisses her breasts, laving her nipples stiff with his tongue while his fingers explore below, her wetness making him groan.

She follows his lead and takes his length in her hand, gasping slightly at his impressive size, measuring him with her strokes.

"I want you so much," he mutters, adjusting himself between her legs.

"Yes," she agrees, pointing him where she wants him and he immediately delves into her, burying himself in her with another groan.

"Arthur," she moans his name, clutching his shoulders, pressing her breasts into his chest while he kisses her neck, her ear.

"Guinevere," he answers at her ear and she moans with pleasure, winding a leg around his, pulling him closer.

Arthur moves smoothly in and out, and they swiftly climb together, touching the sun, the moon, the stars, before crashing down together into their own ocean, crying out and gasping and scooting the chaise several inches on the floor.

"Good thing I was finished with the painting," Arthur says eventually, his head on her chest, their limbs still entwined. "At least the parts I need you for are done," he clarifies.

"So eager to be rid of me?" Gwen asks wryly, her fingers dancing in his hair.

"Never," he answers, squeezing her, and she giggles.

They lay there forever and yet not long enough, but eventually they must move, must return to the world.

"So this is awkward," Arthur frowns, handing her a check as she stands near his door.

"Just for the modeling," Gwen says, smiling at him. "The other bit was free of charge," she says. When he laughs, her heart soars. "You have a wonderful laugh," she says, touching his cheek.

"I hope it's enough to bring your brother home."

"Thank you," she says, slipping it into her purse without looking at it.

"Tomorrow?" he asks hopefully.

"Tomorrow," she nods, leaning up to kiss him. "And perhaps the day after…"

"I like the sound of that," he purrs, kissing her back, deeper.

"I must go," she whispers, gives him one last small kiss, and heads out the door.

Arthur leans against the closed door, grinning like a boy on Christmas morning.

In the stairwell, Gwen pauses and digs out the check.

It's more than enough.


End file.
